Snape Contest 2013
by narni4eva
Summary: Entries for Toten's contest
1. Poetry 1

**The Ballad of Severus Snape**

What shape of man is it that holds a flame

Once the fire that gave it spark long ago

Now ashes makes, and holds still tight the blame

For actions that caused forgotten blow?

What shape of man is it will risk it all

In face of certain madness, take the leap

That leads quite gladly to his own last fall –

Just for eyes that appear close to those which sleep?

What form of man can firm receive blind hate

And swear a troth to evil's hands, and know

That all is done just as a kind of bait

That ends with his own self laid ever low?

What form, indeed, can take the very man

Who lives a lie with no regard to life,

With knowledge firm that all of this will damn

His own self, for love he could not call wife?

What form, what kind of man indeed is this

Who will destroy an oldest friend for good,

Who throws his own corpse into the abyss

Just to save spawn of thing he never would?

This man takes neither well known form nor shape

That is known through all the learned magic books

Nor nothing that can be recognised by looks

But his own: for his is Severus Snape.


	2. Drama

The Wedding

Severus Snape stood just outside the doors of the church, nervously fingering the edge of his black suit jacket and fidgeting with the tie that he wore around his neck. He was not really used to wearing Muggle styled clothes for formal events, rather than robes, but that was not the reason for his unease. He could not make up his mind whether to step over the threshold, even though the doors were open and inviting him in. All of the other guests - those who had wanted to come – were inside already and singing a hymn on their feet, and if he crept in now he would not be noticed. It was probably his last chance to do so before it was too late. Still, he was not sure that it was the right thing to do.

After some more indecision, none of which helped him to really figure out what the right thing was, he at last stepped hurriedly in through the doors and rushed to the very back of the pews, just as the last lines of the hymn were finishing. He was not noticed, and the back row was empty; sliding along quickly as everyone else sat down again, he moved as far as he could into the shadows against the wall, hiding himself as much as was possible and smoothing back his hair for the twentieth time just in case someone did turn around and notice him.

He did not want to be seen, but he could not bear not to see. Even though he had almost felt as though he might die when the card came through with an owl, telling him that he was cordially invited to attend, he could not bear not to be here. It was some exquisite pleasure to face his sorrow head on, to watch the torturous scene unfolding before him, and to feel it wrench all of the last vestiges of his heart that might have escaped being broken yet. He felt sure that Lily had only invited him for some misplaced sense of "old times' sake", rather than really wanting to see him; there was no chance that James had even known about the invitation, much less sanctioned it. There was only trouble that could be caused by his presence, for all of them. He knew that, and he would not have come, but the need to see and hear and know was too strong.

With the other guests sitting and he himself now firmly settled in place, he dared to raise his head and look across all of the rows between them to where Lily stood, and then he could only stare in wonder at how beautiful she was. With her long red hair shining from under a white veil, and a long white dress clinging to her form in all of the right places, she looked like the kind of angel that you read about in books of myth and legend. More than that; she looked happy, radiant. So in love that she could not help but be more beautiful than anyone in the room, anyone that he had ever seen. She wore a smile on her face, the kind that came with watery eyes and trembling hands, where happiness was so strong that it threatened almost to overwhelm. He could have choked there and then, could have died quite easily with that perfect image of her beauty in his head – but then she turned back to face the front of the room and he could not help but notice and remember the man who stood next to her.

James Potter was standing with a smile on his face that could only be described as goofy, in contrast to his elegant bride, and Snape's hands curled into fists at his sides. How could she choose someone like that fool? He hated him, hated him completely, every single hair on his head, even the shine on his shoes – hated all of him! He stood there with no doubts, knowing beyond all uncertainty that the woman who stood next to him was his and his alone, and would never betray or leave or turn away from him. That hate, Snape knew, was born from envy more than any grudge he really bore – but that did not make it burn any less brightly.

The priest was a jolly Englishman, clearly a Muggle and unaware of any kind of special qualities that his bride and groom today might have possessed. He led them through the ceremony with a grin, and cracked a joke when he asked whether or not there might be anyone who knew why they should not be wed. I do, thought Snape, a dim but roaring complaint at the back of his mind. I know why she should run away from him forever and come with me instead. But no one said anything, and they carried on going through all of the motions, as though there was nothing wrong in the world and there could never be any happier scene than this one.

They were at the serious part of the ceremony now, starting to read their vows and twisting the knife into Snape's gut even further. He barely heard the words that they were saying, only knowing that every single one of them was painful beyond measure – and worst of all, hardest of all, was when Lily turned with a sweet smile on her face and tears in her eyes to say to James, quietly but clearly, "I do."

They slipped small silver rings onto one another's hands, and Snape felt as though he had been punched in the gut again, hunching over in pain in his seat and clenching his fists hard enough to mark the palms of his hands, desperately fighting back the tears in his eyes. It was done. It was all over. She was a Potter now, and no amount of magic or pleading could change that fact. The happy couple moved in to kiss one another, going on for far too long, looking far too happy and joyous and excited, and he suddenly regretted coming here at all. He shrank back into the shadows as far as he possibly could and cast a spell to ensure that he would not be noticed, knowing more than anything that the last thing he wanted was for her to see him now.

The wedding party moved back through the church towards the doors, where the sun was shining now to cast them in bright beams as they made their first steps out into fresh air as man and wife. Friends and family rushed out ahead of them in order to throw confetti over their heads and cheer them, sending wishes of luck and happiness their way, as they moved slowly towards a car that would take them on to their reception and the celebrations that would follow for the rest of the evening. He slunk as far back as he could, waiting until they had all passed him by, and the priest closed the doors of the church behind them as he returned to his own rooms at the other side of the building.

There was a darkness and a void inside the church now, beams of sunlight dimmed by the colours of the stained glass windows carved thin and high into the walls, and the only thing that filled it was Severus Snape. He stayed there, small and dark and empty too, until the light faded completely and he was truly all alone.

The cold of the air in the stone building did not touch him, nor did the hardness of the seat on which he sat, nor the hours spent without moving and without food or drink. He did not pay any attention to the believers or workers who wound their way through the aisles, nor did they notice him. He brought his feet up onto the pew so that he could rest his head on his knees, and sat there until there was finally no alternative but to get up and go.

Walking slowly, with a tremor in his step that threatened to overcome him again, he pushed out through the tall wooden doors and stood in the ruins of the confetti that had been left behind. Somewhere between now and then it had started to rain, and the coloured paper was trodden into the earth and muddied all around him, soaked enough to tear as soon as any pressure was put on it. The cold rain bore down on him relentlessly, drenching him through to the skin in a matter of minutes as he made his slow way down away from the church and out to whatever it was that awaited him now. With his one burning ember of hope finally extinguished, Snape looked up to the darkness of the sky and felt the rain hitting his upturned face, landing near his eyes and sliding down his face like tear drops.


End file.
